


Over the Clothes

by Duck_Life_After_Dark



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: F/F, Light Dom/sub, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Psychic Abilities, Strap-Ons, Surprise Ending, Voyeurism, betsy's strap is the focused totality of her sexy abilities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 05:19:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18403910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duck_Life_After_Dark/pseuds/Duck_Life_After_Dark
Summary: Betsy finds a creative way to get under Rogue's skin without actually touching her skin.





	Over the Clothes

Betsy is already thrumming with excitement when she knocks on Rogue’s door. “Come in…” Even through the door, she can hear the note of anticipation in Rogue’s charming drawl, the eagerness, the subtle nervousness—the heat. She twists the knob and steps in, shutting the door to Rogue’s bedroom behind her. “Hey,” Rogue says, two spots of pink bright on her cheeks.

“Hullo,” Betsy says, grinning. She sets her handbag— purple, of course— down on Rogue’s dresser. “Awful lot of layers for such a hot day.”

Rogue rolls her eyes. “You know why.”

“Of course,” Betsy agrees. “Because no one can touch you, no one can… can caress you. No one can kiss you.”

“Well— oh!”

Betsy smiles, watching Rogue react to the phantom brush of lips on her neck, light as a butterfly’s wings at first, and then hotter, faster, more intense. Up Rogue’s pale neck, to the shell of her ear.

“Whoa… wow,” Rogue marvels, her face bright red.

“Oh, c’mon,” Betsy says, hands on her hips. “I know you’ve thought about _all_ the ways my psychic abilities can work around your particular… difficulties.”

“I have thought about it,” Rogue admits, unabashed. “A lot. Alone. In bed.”

“Rascal.”

“Always,” Rogue says. Her face is still pink, but not from embarrassment or shame. “Well? Not to ruin the mood, sugar, but I just don’t wanna get interrupted by Alex again.”

“Of course.” Betsy presses an invisible kiss to her lips, letting Rogue feel the gentle tug of teeth on her bottom lip, the tip of her tongue slipping in, before she pulls back. “I was… hoping we could try something a bit more physical this time. If that’s okay?”

Rogue looks wary. “You can’t touch me.”

“Don’t worry,” Betsy says, and she turns around and pulls something out of her purse. “I found another workaround.”

Rogue’s jaw drops. “Where’d you get that?”

“The same store where Ali bought that strawberry-flavored lube,” Betsy says, holding up the strap-on so Rogue can get a better look.

“It’s purple.”

“But of course. I have to stay on brand.” There’s still too much space between them, and Betsy knows she can get closer without risking skin-to-skin contact. She takes a few steps forward, letting her hands hang at her side, careful not to touch Rogue despite how much she longs to reach out and run her thumb over those blushing cheeks, despite how much she wishes she could pull the other woman close and kiss her hard until they’re both panting. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

“Y-you too,” Rogue says, looking down. “Most beautiful woman I ever met.”

Betsy’s still wearing her full uniform, gloves and all, so she’s able to put a hand beneath Rogue’s chin and gently nudge her head up, so she can meet Rogue’s eyes. “Get on the bed.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Rogue sits down. Betsy’s close enough that the Rogue’s knees are brushing hers, and she’s never been more grateful that she switched to a uniform that covers so much of her skin. The flowy pink jumpsuit may have been fun, but this was much more practical. For missions… and for this sort of thing.

“Take off your shirt,” Betsy says, voice suddenly a little breathier. She likes telling Rogue what to do almost as much as Rogue likes being told what to do. (They’d discussed, once, using Betsy’s psychic abilities to… persuade Rogue. And it might still happen. Not today, though.)

Rogue’s wearing an atrocious mustard yellow tunic shirt over black leggings. She slips off the shirt and tosses it across the room, leaving her in just the leggings, her bra and her gloves.

“Bra. Off. Now.”

Her gloved fingers fumble a bit with the clasp, but she soon has it off, leaving her perfect breasts exposed. Rogue throws her bra in the same corner she threw her shirt.

“Wow,” Betsy mutters. “Imagine if you were this good at following orders in the field.”

“Stormy’s orders aren’t usually as fun as yours,” Rogue points out.

“Can’t argue with that.” The expectant look on her face sends a thrill through Betsy. “Well? Go on then, play with your nipples. I want to watch.”

Rogue tilts back on her bed, smiling up at Betsy. “Feels like I’m doing all the work.”

“Don’t worry, my part will come,” Betsy promises, toying with the harness of her strap-on.

Rogue tugs her left glove off, then the right one. Unlike her bra and shirt, the gloves get folded neatly and set on her nightstand. She reaches up slowly, lingering, letting Betsy enjoy the view, before swiping a hand over her left nipple, letting it stiffen.

With both hands, she pinches and rolls her nipples, slow at first, and then faster. Her mouth slides into a relaxed smile, and as her nipples get harder she starts to grind her hips back into the bed. She grabs at her own breasts, squeezes them, giving herself everything Betsy wishes she could give her, if it weren’t for her mutation.

Betsy’s able to do _something_ though. After a few moments of playing with her breasts, Rogue feels those phantom lips on her again, first on her neck and then lower, lower, moving down, kissing the tops of her breasts, and then lower still, leaving a trail of goosebumps all the way down to her waist.

“Lose the leggings,” Betsy says, her mouth dry. She’s started rubbing herself through the fabric of her uniform.

Rogue wriggles out of her leggings, tossing them in the same corner she, apparently, tosses all her clothes. Her panties are white with blue stripes— and wet. Betsy reaches down and sweeps her hand over the space between Rogue’s thighs.

“Careful,” Rogue says, tensing suddenly, hands freezing over her chest.

“Don’t worry,” Betsy says. “Look at me. I’m covered.” She is—gloves, sleeves. Even her neck. Only her face and hair are left uncovered. “Maybe I should get a latex bodysuit.”

Rogue laughs but it comes out like a growl. “Don’t say shit like that unless you mean it, Braddock,” she warns, grinding down on Betsy’s hand. She flicks at her own nipples, letting her breasts fill up each hand, while Betsy strokes her through her underwear.

“Alright,” Betsy says finally. “Knickers off.”

Rogue laughs. “Knickers?”

“Shut up.”

“Fine, fine, let me just take my knickers off so we can have a shag and then go have tea with the Queen.”

Rogue sits up and pulls off her panties. The first time Betsy saw her naked, she’d honestly been surprised not to see a matching white stripe in the coarse hair covering her pussy. (When she’d commented on this, Rogue had laughed so hard she’d fallen off the bed.)

Rogue’s eyes are big and dark now as she gazes up at Betsy. “Next time, you’re the naked one.”

“Agreed,” Betsy says. “But let’s focus on the now, shall we?” Rogue is absolutely stunning. The combination of the Australian sun and her gradually becoming more comfortable showing a little skin has resulted in a gorgeous tan on her face and arms.

Betsy holds up her strap-on. “Do you want this?”

“Yes, please.”

“What do you want me to do with it?”

“Well, I want you to put it on.”

Betsy narrows her eyes. “Yeah? Then what?”

“Oh, then? Well, y’know, if it’s no trouble, I, ah, I guess I’d like for you to fuck me with it. Please.”

Betsy steps into the harness, pulling it up her legs slowly. “You sure?”

“Yes please.”

Betsy tightens the harness around her hips, making sure its snug over her uniform. Rogue eyes the purple silicone cock protruding from Betsy’s crotch.

“You should make that a permanent addition to your costume,” she suggests.

Betsy huffs. “I’ll pass. The Sentinels already look enough like dildos. We don’t need to throw any more into the mix.” She shakes her head, growing serious again. “Still want me?”

“I always want you.”

Betsy moves closer to the bed, reaching under Rogue’s knees and lifting her legs up, letting them bracket her hips as she moves closer. Rogue makes a surprised noise as Betsy drags her closer to the edge of the bed.

Rogue grips the bedsheets with one hand and uses the other to guide the purple cock between the folds of her pussy, gasping as she feels Betsy enter her. Her head tips back and she pulls her hand away so she can clutch at the sheets with both hands.

“You like that?” Betsy says, thrusting forward a little.

“Unh,” Rogue says intelligently, feeling heat roll in waves all over her body.

Betsy sways back a little and then thrusts forward again, pumping in and out. “You like it when I fuck you?”

“Yeah.”

Betsy leans over her, gets a better angle so she can fuck Rogue faster. “Say yes ma’am.”

“Y-yes, ma’am.”

“Such a good little Southern belle.” Betsy pulls almost all the way out then slides back in, loving the little gasps and moans Rogue lets out. It’s music to her ears. She keeps pumping in and out, knowing she’ll eventually have to dry clean this uniform later and not caring in the slightest.

Anything to get closer to Rogue, anything to see the debauched expression on her perfect face, the tangle of white-and-brown hair splayed out on the bed, strands of hair sticking to her forehead from the sweat.

Rogue’s knuckles are white where she’s grabbing at the sheets. She arches her back. “Betts— I’m… I’m gonna…”

A stroke of wickedness strikes her. “Ask me permission.”

Rogue’s eyes widen— but she listens. “Betsy, c-can I come? May I please come? Ma’am?”

“Hmmm,” Betsy pretends to deliberate while Rogue makes a strangled, desperate sound, keening. “Okay, okay, yes. You can come.”

Betsy fucks her through her orgasm, thoroughly enjoying the look of bliss on Rogue’s face. She keeps pushing in and out, but slower, riding out the aftershocks, and then finally withdraws, letting Rogue stretch out on the bed, sweaty and satisfied, her naked chest rising and falling in shaky breaths. “God, you’re sexy,” Rogue mumbles, looking up at her.

“You should see yourself, gorgeous,” Betsy says, slipping out of her harness and letting it fall to the floor before sitting down on the corner of Rogue’s bed. “Honestly. You’re amazing.” Her eyes rake up and down Rogue’s body, loving how spent she looks, loving the knowledge that she made it happen.

“Back atcha,” Rogue says, blowing her a kiss.

 

* * *

 

Her breathless words echo across the stadium. Spineless audience members crow and caw while the feed from Elizabeth Braddock’s cybernetic eyes continues streaming on every gigantic screen. “Disgusting,” some of them decree, “filthy,” though they are unable to look away. Human beings are as fascinating as they are vile.

Yes, tonight’s ratings are going to be exceptionally high.

 


End file.
